


Next Year all our Troubles will be out of Sight--Jack

by sjhw_tolerance (mscorkill)



Series: 2010 Christmas Challenge [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/sjhw_tolerance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Aschen aren't who you think they are".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Year all our Troubles will be out of Sight--Jack

**Author's Note:**

> One of the comments to Sam's version of this story had me feeling sorry for Jack, because I don't think he's quite the bastard I made him out to be in that fic, so I decided to write a version from his point of view. It is probably helpful if you've read that fic (Sam's POV) before you read this one.
> 
> As before, this is based on the AU in the episode 2010, is loaded with angst and ends the same.
> 
> Originally posted December 2010

NEXT YEAR ALL OUR TROUBLES WILL BE OUT OF SIGHT: JACK

Jack sits in his usual spot in the back booth; he’s been a regular long enough that Brenda, the solitary waitress, brings him a draw of his usual. He has no illusions that she considers him any different from the rest of the bar’s clientele, but he tips well and that at least insures a steady flow of fresh beer. Not that he drinks that much…maybe, at first he did, when he still cared and thought he could change their minds. Part of him still can’t believe that they can’t see the Aschen for who they are, but then most people are blind to the reality around them and only see what they want to see. He thought his team was different, but he was the one who was blind.

He feels curiously unsettled, the rundown and shabby interior of The Tropics doesn’t usually bother him, but tonight the tacky Christmas Santa in his grass skirt and lei, combined with the same Christmas CD playing over and over again starts to wear on him. Jack blames the majority of his current discontent on Daniel’s visit earlier in the week. He thought they’d given up on trying to convince him that the Aschen were their friends, benevolent outsiders with purely altruistic intent. Jack isn’t sure why the sudden interest in him again, but he knows it won’t end with Daniel.

He just never expected they would send her.

Jack normally ignores the comings and goings in the bar, not that there’s a lot of activity, but when he glances towards the front of the bar when the door suddenly opens and catches a glint of blonde hair, he can’t help but look closer. His treacherous heart starts beating faster when he recognizes her, looking cool, elegant and totally untouchable in her expensive fur coat. He doesn’t try to hide from her and he waits, feigning indifference until she spots him.

Even though he’s deliberately not watching, Jack is intensely aware of her progress through the scattered tables, of the bartender’s casual curiosity in her and when she slips onto the bench seat opposite him, his mind is still reeling. He wonders what she sees when she looks at him, so different from their days at the SGC. He rarely bothers to shave these days; the only reminder of his time in the military is his still short hair. Dressed in a flannel shirt, down vest and jeans, he blends in with the rest of the crowd; she’s the one who is overdressed, in her fine fur coat and tailored slacks.

 

Brenda appears, apparently letting curiosity get the better of her, and sets down a fresh beer in front of him and then looks at Sam. “What can I get you, hon?”

“The same,” Sam tells her.

Brenda saunters off and Jack takes a long swallow of his beer in an effort to stall for more time before he finally acknowledges her. “Carter. Oh wait, its Mrs. Faxon now, isn’t it?” The accusation slips out and he grimaces at what his admission reveals, but her expression never changes.

“Jack, please,” she says, sounding tired and impatient. “The new administration needs you, your country needs you.”

He’s surprised that she skips the customary pleasantries, evidently his current position is such that he doesn’t qualify for common courtesy anymore. He thinks that the ambassador would have been a bit more diplomatic and at least wished him well before plunging a knife in his back. Regardless, his answer is the same as it’s always been and he replies sharply, “My country doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You know that’s not true!”

Her eyes flash with passion and he’s painfully reminded that she used to have that kind of passion for what they did as members of SG1…and for him. Closing off that part of himself, Jack hardens his heart and lounges back and asks idly, “Tell me, Sam. Who sent you here? Daniel? The Ambassador? Or was it good old Mollem?”

She looks down, avoiding his eyes when she answers. “We’re all concerned for you.” It’s bullshit and Jack knows it, but she continues on, spouting the party line. “Jack, you should see the wonderful things they’re doing. The advances in medicine alone are staggering. Not to mention that we can finally live in peace. I just don’t understand why you’re fighting this.”

 

“Because no one else is.” He doesn’t have any concrete evidence or proof, just this feeling in his gut that won’t let him follow the Aschen blindly.

“So you’re just doing it to be what—stubborn?”

She sounds frustrated and he wonders again why his acceptance of the Aschen is so important. Leaning forward, he stares intently at her. “They have an agenda, Sam. And it’s not all sharing and benevolence. They want something from us.”

“You’re just being blind.”

“I’m not the only one.” Bitter frustration eats at him and they fall silent when Brenda returns with Sam’s beer. She takes a sip, her nose wrinkling at the taste of the bitter ale and immediately sets it back down. He’s not surprised and drawls, “Not good enough for the ambassador’s wife?”

“Jack, please. Isn’t there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”

He thinks fleetingly that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be once they’d defeated the Goa’uld; their lives should have been so different. Her betrayal runs deep and he has to remember the woman sitting across from him isn’t Major Carter anymore, she’s Mrs. Joseph Faxon, darling of the new administration and he wonders just how far she’ll go to persuade him. He doesn’t let the hurt and betrayal show, instead letting his eyes fill with insolence and a grim look of satisfaction slowly fills him when she doesn’t look away.

“Let’s get out of here.” He tosses a couple of twenties down on the table and walks out into the cold night, confident that she’ll be right behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack isn’t sure she won’t just keep driving until she pulls into the parking lot of the shabby motel a mile down the road from the bar. And he still isn’t sure she isn’t going to drive off in her expensive Mercedes until he comes out the motel office and she gets out of her car and silently follows him to the room at the end of the one-story complex.

He unlocks the door and when she follows him inside, a terrifying combination of despair and relief fills him. The door barely has time to shut behind them when he presses her back up against it, his mouth hot and hungry on hers, his hands moving roughly over her body. He pushes her coat off her shoulders, heedless of the fate of the luxurious fur, before he’s pulling at her expensive sweater and tugging at the waistband of her slacks.

Sam doesn’t fight him or protest and the despair crying out inside him almost drowns out the relentless desire. He can barely think, but he knows if she fights him or says no, he’ll stop. But she doesn’t and soon her mouth and hands are just as desperate as his and the desire controlling him roars up in triumph when one of his hands works its way down into her panties and finds her soaking wet and she moans in surrender.

She starts struggling and for one panicked moment Jack thinks she’s come to her senses, but he quickly realizes she hasn’t when he suddenly feels her rubbing his cock through the rough denim of his jeans. He’s already so hot and hard that he almost comes immediately, biting back a groan of pleasure and sagging against her for a brief moment. His breathing ragged, Jack grimly hangs onto his control and fastens his teeth on the soft skin of her neck and nipping sharply, before he sweeps her up in his arms and drops her down on the bed.

The mattress sags when he kneels over her; he knows his hands are too rough when he tugs her trousers and panties down, barely noticing or caring that she only manages to get one leg free from the garments before he’s shoving his jeans and briefs down his hips. He looms over her and once more thinks that this isn’t how it was supposed to be, but it’s all he’ll ever have. Pulling her legs apart, he enters her immediately, and she cries out softly, her hands clutching at his shoulders as his hips piston in and out of her. She shifts, wrapping her slim legs around his hips, easing his penetration, and he groans helplessly, sliding his arms under her back and cupping her shoulders, the additional leverage allowing him to go deeper.

Jack buries his face in her throat and surrenders to the passion tearing through him, blind to everything except the need to lose himself in the woman beneath him. It’s happening too fast and a bittersweet resignation fills him when he dimly realizes that Sam has been reduced to an object to slake his desire. But it’s too late and he’s lost; a guttural groan escaping him as grinds his hips against her, his orgasm ripping through him as he empties himself within her warmth.

Collapsing on her soft body, he allows himself the brief illusion that she’s there because she wants to be, that he has a right to kiss her…touch her…make love to her. And she doesn’t protest, but it’s not long before he feels the quiet stillness in her body and the despair returns. Jack abruptly pulls free of her and stands by the side of the bed, gazing down at her. Her pale body is visible in the sliver of light shining through the curtained window and he wishes he could see her eyes. But it’s probably just as well that he can’t and when she doesn’t say anything, and before he can weaken any further and beg her to leave Faxon and run away with him, he tells her yet another lie to add to all the others. “Nice try. But I won’t change my mind.”

In the quiet of the room, he hears the ragged catch in her breathing, but it’s too late...it’s been too late for them for longer than he can remember now. Once more ignoring her, Jack zips up his jeans and fastens his shirt, picking his vest up off the floor from where he dropped it. Stopping at the door, his hand on the knob, he looks back at her. He knows it’s useless, but he has to try one more time to make her understand, to see what he sees before he closes the door and walks away from the woman who, in spite of everything, he still loves.

“The Aschen aren’t who you think they are.”

THE END


End file.
